Gathering the Scattered Pieces: Wonder
by Captain MeraSparrow
Summary: Episode 5. Starting to feel their time constraint, James and Amy turn to a more reliable - and more dangerous - means of finding manifestations, which leads them to a new world and new changes and discoveries within themselves.
1. Lost in Dreams

The reason I had wanted to wait until the summer to write this one was because I wanted to have the chance to watch Voyage of the Dawn Treader and see if I could work the story around that instead. However, considering the transformation that occurs in dear James, which is integral to future developments of the story and which can only be 'rationally' explained by the situations offered by the original setting, I have decided to leave it almost as it was, with a few revisions and deletions. This was not an easy decision to make, and I'm still sore about it. I'll have to make a return trip some time and set it during book 5.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Will be updating every few days.

**Chapter One: In Dreams We Lose Ourselves**

A day or so had passed since the recombination of all the incarnations that had been collected thusfar. Ames had used the time to take it easy and recover from all the magic it had taken to do so. Now, she sat in a wooden chair, one knee drawn up, silently watching the sleeping, seemingly floating Jack. James and Tia were with her—James in the armchair the lass seemed to like using as a bed, and Tia standing by the door—all silently staring, each lost in their own thoughts.

The poor Commodore had been unusually quiet. Ever since the binding ritual. It was as though he could never settle down—a tad jumpy, looking over his shoulder once in a while as if expecting to see some barnacle-encrusted, starfish-faced sailor-gone-postal with a lethal shiver about to attack him—always fidgeting, unable to sit in one place for very long. Right now seemed to be the first time since that he had been able to sit in peace, staring exhaustedly into space.

"Right then," the lass said after a long time, shaking herself from her daydreams. "How are we going to find out where the next manifestation is? I haven't had any dreams, like with self-confidence, and reading the stones and the claws is really not reliable. There are too many parallels for the same place."

"Haf ya recover all ya energy?"

"As much as I am aware of."

"Den I will show ya. Come." The two rose and followed her out. She led them to the divination table, where a sort of narrow wooden reclining chair had been set up.

"When did this get here?" James asked with surprise. Tia Dalma gave him a look. "Right. I keep forgetting not to be informed."

"De way we find out where is t'ru de Dreamin' process. De incantashun be writ on ya brow. Ya fall to sleep, and you dream. De dream show de answer." James and Ames exchanged excited, relieved expressions. "But be warn'," Teacher went on. "De ritual ver' stressful, an' take de mind to 'noder Realm—but wit'out de body. Dis separachun be dengerous ya menta' healt'."

"I'll do it," James volunteered after a few moments' silent debate with his aunt.

"No. It should be me. I don't want you to risk your sanity for mine what's nonexistent."

"Insanity—in its _reality_, mind you—is a very scary thing that I _cannot _let you experience. Besides, you'll need a sharp mind to maintain your magic. I am doing it." And to punctuate his point, he sat on the wooden recliner. The chair was very thin—no wider than he was—but years in a hammock prepare a man for these things, and he easily kept his balance where the girl may have fallen. Without giving the lass a chance to protest, he leaned forward to receive the symbol.

Tia Dalma dipped a fine brush in red-black paint, and proceeded to write an incantation on his forehead in an unknown language that bore a resemblance to those of eastern Asia, but which was not any of them. Then, in another alphabet, she wrote along his left cheekbone and temple. She did the same with his right, except in still another language. The process continued: down his nose, along his jaw, and around his neck (this last contained several alchemical symbols.) When finished, she sealed the magic of the original incantation with a gentle kiss, her lips pressed lightly against the symbols. James closed his eyes momentarily. Was he nervous? As if in response, the lines tightened against his face, biting into his flesh. His eyes snapped open, pupils constricting with alarm and anticipation. "Relax, commadore," she said to him with a hint of gentle laughter in her voice, lightly pushing him back to lie down.

"Well," he managed nervously, "see you on the other side, I suppose."

Tia Dalma murmured the incantation, in a language the lass could not identify, in a hushed whisper—like the voice of a spirit floating on the zephyr. In the ensuing silence, she leaned over him, perhaps invading his bubble, though he did not protest, and closed his eyes with her fingers in what might be considered a tender manner. Or perhaps poor Amy was simply being paranoid. With another tender touch, she rested her hand momentarily on his forehead, where the symbols burned, and he was instantly asleep. A quill was placed in his unconscious grip, and left to rest on a piece of parchment on the table beside him. Ames blinked in confusion, wondering what purpose it could possibly serve.

Several minutes passed, and the subtle twitches of muscles, which the lass had observed in the Warriors realm, became noticeable. He was dreaming. It had begun.

His expression was focused, brow furrowed, the incantations glowing a deep red. The general twitches of his muscles grew into more spasmodic movements; his hand was forced over the parchment, the quill making its marks as per. Soon, the spasms became violent convulsions, remarkably similar in appearance to a seizure. The lass cried out in fearful alarm, springing forward to try and help. However, Tia Dalma held her back, and they could only watch. The quill flew across the page, ragged strokes beginning to connect and take shape.

Just as Amy thought he was about to swallow his own tongue—for he was beginning to make a dreadful choking sound—Teacher calmly reached out and touched the spell on his forehead. He bolted upright, eyes flying open and emerald with excitement. His shoulders shook, and tremors ran through him as he panted hard, breathing ragged and uneven. Amy started forward to comfort him, but as soon as she was within range, a hand darted out and closed around her throat. "J...J... ..James?" Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head to look at her. She met his gaze, and her blood ran cold when she discovered a wild look in his eyes, unpredictable, the likes of which she had never seen. "Hey...are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" he growled. "Since when have you cared?"

"I—I care, James."

He chuckled, looking away. Then he looked back at her with real anger in his glare. Even hatred. "What are you to me? You are a child. Why do I follow you so blindly? What good have you ever been to me?"

His grip suddenly tightened, but Tia Dalma grasped his arm and pulled the lass away. "I don't understand — what have I done? What's wrong?"

"Him body awake, but him mind has not returned. Give 'im time ta recova', an' it may yet."

"May?" the lass repeated in panic. Teacher, however, made no reply, only smiled with a knowing glint in her eyes and nodded toward James. His breathing had begun to come more easily, and his shoulders still heaved. And though it pained the lass to see him in such a state, yearning to throw her arms around him and make sure he was all right, she could see that he was calming.

A hand went to his head, and he blinked his eyes open, where they had been squeezed shut, looking around the room in confusion. "Where am I?" he asked hoarsely. His gaze, still an icy green with the excitement, fell on the two women, and both sides stared at one another for several long moments before he seemed to recognize them. He gave them a weak, though triumphant smile and murmured, "It was beautiful." He slowly rose from the chair to observe the marks on the parchment. Ames hesitantly approached, until she was beside him, within view of the picture. "Since when did quills have multi-coloured ink?" she heard him muttering to himself.

"Well? What is de picsha of?"

"It... it's a lamp post," he announced incredulously.

"No," the lass corrected, plucking up the parchment. "Much more better. It is a _drawring _of a lamp post."

James scoffed. "Oh don't tell me you think you know where it is. How could you _possibly _know where that specific lamp post is? Wot's that all around it, anyway? Looks to be some sort of frame." It was as though he had never said those hurtful things. But if he wouldn't have said them, why did he?

"Actually, dear boy, it is the interior of a rather ornate wardrobe. See how the doors are opened toward us?"

"All right, I'll give you that. But I don't understand the connection."

"You know, you're a really good artist," she commented divergently.

"Yeah, when I'm having a seizure," he replied, before hastily getting back on-subject. "I mean, really! A lamp post in the middle of the woods? That could be anywhere!"

"But a lamp post that hasn't any paths leading to it?" Why would it be there in the first place?

Pause.

"Well it's in a clearing." So it could be like any lamp post in a clearing.

The lass laughed. "James: one, Amy: zip. But that's about to change. How many places specifically have," and here she took a deep, preparatory breath, "a-lamp-post-in-a-clearing-in-a-forest-in-the-middle-of-winter-with-snow-everywhere-and-the-whole-place-is-inside-of-a-wardrobe?"

James pursed his lips in thought, unable to answer, and glared half-heartedly at her as she gloated. "All right then, All-Knowing-One, where is it?"

She raised her finger with a grin, all too happy to answer, and relieved that everything between them seemed to be back to normal, when an apostrophe hit her, and lightning struck her brain. An epiphany suddenly bloomed on her. She turned to the mystic. "Teacher, can you tell me something?"

"I can tell you many t'ings, chil'."

"Can you tell me, then, why all of Jack's emotions ended up in worlds that I am intimately familiar with?"

Tia smiled, as though she had been waiting a long time for the girl to ask. "Dat Eohippus fruit long ago—'t bound ya bot' t'gedder. You two are link."

A moment of reflective thought passed. "But... But if that's true, then why have none of his forms shown up in _my _world?"

The woman considered her for a few seconds, sage gaze holding answers to questions one could never conceive. "Dat, chil', is because you more connect wit' oder realms dan your own. Y'alweys t'inking of anoda' place. Ya heart is neva wit' you d'ere."

The lass's brows came together in confusion as she contemplated Tia's meaning. How could she not be connected with the realm where she had been born and raised? Could it have anything to do with the pending Dimension Convention (as she had nicknamed the Collision)?—would it speed it up or slow it down? Was it normal? She couldn't find an answer to any of these; could only respond to one question with another. "Where?" James finally asked, gently interrupting her circuitous tangent of thought. "Where must we go?"

She turned to him, blinking away the deepness of thought. "Put your armor on, James. We're headed to Narnia."

—

The two appeared in what James perceived to be a very small space. "I do not see a lamp post, pet." In fact, he couldn't see anything at all. It was black as pitch, and there were furry things crowding around him. "Are these coats?"

"Well it _is _a wardrobe, after all." He heard a rustling as she navigated her way through the clothing. There were a few moments of silence before he heard her excited voice. "Come on!"

"We are in a wardrobe," he reasoned as he climbed after her. "Where could I possible 'come on' to?"

"Come on, come on," her excited voice urged him from what sounded like a good distance away.

He hastened forward, pushing through the furs until... "Ouch—these aren't coats." Something had pricked him. Another something, invisible in the dark, caught his foot, and in his haste he tripped, bursting through several branches—yes, branches!—and faceplanted, right into something that glittered a dazzling white in the moonlight. With a grunt, he picked himself up, shaking the snow from his armor and wiping it off his muzzle. Muzzle? Wait... "Amy?" he called apprehensively, feeling positively not normal. He spied her some distance away, trotting briskly up what appeared to be a path through the trees. "Wait up!" He stumbled to his feet and took off after her. "Amy, there's something I don't—."

"It's this way, come on!" He raced after her, gaining some ground, before she suddenly turned and disappeared. He skidded to a halt there, and realized that the path made a sharp turn. His eyes sought out her tracks and followed them to their source, which now stood in a small clearing, staring up at a lamp post, which was lit and set all the snow around it in a warm, golden glow. He slowly approached her, preparing himself for an explosion.

He got down on one knee behind her, so as to be at her level, and gently tapped her on the shoulder. "Amy..."

"What, J—Oh my God!" she cried in surprise. She had not been expecting to meet the face of a lion upon turning around.

There was James, a lithe, fit, anthropomorphic lion that did not have a mane. His armor had been altered to a lighter, Narnian style. His hands were very pawlike—or perhaps his paws were handlike—and a cougarish tail curled around him as he gazed at her with concerned, intensely green eyes. "Is it that bad?"

"No way! You're fuzzy!" Her voice took on a Stitch-ish tone. "'Also cute—**and fluffy!**" Pause. "You're also _huge_. What are you again?"

"Lord knows," he said with a shake of his head, voice quaking with worry as he considered her and himself. "And I think it is more that you have become smaller than that I am big. Pet."

She looked down at herself. "Holy shnikeys, I'm three feet tall!"

"Two-and-a-half," he corrected her.

A green-haired elf? Her clothes seemed almost Tolkien-esque, a sword at her hip, and a bow and quiver slung across her back. Her skin had a rich golden tan to it. "New question: what am _I?_"

James bared rows of sharp teeth. "Why are we like this?"

She sat down on his boot, a finger going to her chin in thought. The answer soon came to her. "That's it; you see all this snow and ice? This winter has lasted a hundred years, due to the power of the White Bi—...that is to say, the White Witch. She calls herself the Queen of Narnia, but that's a lie. But there is a prophecy that two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve would come to vanquish her. Two boys and two girls. Humans. Now, at the moment, there are no humans native to Narnia. The only ones here are four siblings who came through the wardrobe. They are the ones from the prophecy. So there cannot be any other humans here, or else the prophecy would be wrong. That's why we're like this." She rose to her feet and looked around her with a wistful smile. "I've always wanted to come here, you know?"

There was a sudden rustling in the bushes, startling them both—poor James's tail puffed out to an embarrassing girth—and they drew their weapons. "Traitorous trees!" she hissed, baring teeth that included canines definitely not human. "They have heard us speaking of the prophecy and must be sending for a means of our arrest!"

"Who would arrest _us_?"

"Maugrim," she growled. "And the other werewolves." If James were human, he would have paled. The fact that he wasn't made him uneasy. The fact that nothing else was didn't help.

* * *

><p>And thus, the beginning of a new episode! Please leave a review on your way out!<p> 


	2. Fileted Curiosity

**Chapter Two: Curiosity Fileted**

They stood with blades drawn against an unknown enemy surging toward them through the trees. Suddenly, the bushes before them trembled something terrible, and the two faced it, swords raised, prepared to fight whatever might jump out at them. What they were not prepared for was a fox, which leapt out to meet them, sniffing curiously. "Why, it's a fox," the lass announced. "How do you do?"

"Amy, you do realize you are talking to a fox," James informed her.

"Do you speak?" she asked it. It cocked its head, looking up at her with a foxy grin as it panted. "No answer."

"You say this as though you were expecting one."

"I was. We have just found another manifestation. Come along." And she proceeded to walk calmly away from the beast.

"What—Amy, what are you—?"

"Walk. Now."

"Amy, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded as he caught up with her.

"If we want to find out which emotion it is, I suggest we find out how it will react—_don't_ look over your shoulder, soldier."

He snapped his head to face front. "And just _how_, may I ask, do you know it is Jack?"

"Oh, come on. A fox that doesn't talk?"

"As opposed to one that _does?"_ he countered.

"In Narnia? _All_ the animals talk in Narnia. One that does not is an oddity. We are looking for oddities, are we not?" She stopped walking and suddenly whirled around to find that the fox had been following them. "Seems to trust us without knowing us. If _that_ isn't a telltale sign, then I don't know what is." She set down her pack and weapons and leaned against the lamp post. "We should probably rest now. It's the middle of the night. It might be warmer by morning, but let's get a fire going. Wh–hey!" The fox had been sniffing and batting at the points of her arrows. She swatted him away and swiped the quiver out of reach. "Curiosity already killed the cat and salted the snail. Do you want it to filet the fox, too?" She scratched his head playfully. "Wait... curiosity. You're Jack's Curiosity, aren't you?"

"A fox for Cutiosity. Rather fitting, I might suppose. Er...pet...there are bound to be more foxes in Narnia than just this one. How will we know which he is?"

The little canine, who had since stuck his head inside the girl's pack, now pulled out a strip of reddish leather. "Clever little beastie," she chuckled, buckling it around his neck to act as a collar.

"Although I daresay that this one seems cleverer than is usual."

"Hmm," she nodded. "Then Cleverness, too. Jack _is_ an awful clever fellow, inne. Clever as a fox."

James got a fire going, and they sat around it. "Shall we leave in the morning, then?"

"And without a chance to explore?"

"Well in case you haven't noticed, we're on a short time constraint. We need to get the fox back to Jack, and we need to hurry before the men in black discover we are here, or before this realm begins to tilt toward others."

"All the time we shall ever spend here will add up to be only a moment outside of here." James looked at her sternly—a look that had all the more effect on the magnificent lion's face he now wore. "Can't we at least stay _one_ day?"

He glared at her thoughtfully, before sighing frustratedly. "One. One day." She grinned victoriously, and he struggled not to join in. "But then it's back home."

"Deal." They shook on it—after which the lass exclaimed at his paws and compared them in size to her tiny hands. At length, the three of them curled up for the night, in a cozy ball in one another's arms for added warmth, and slept peacefully and without disturbance until dawn—although dear James had kept himself up half the night, warily on the lookout for danger.

The next morning, they were up in a snap, promptly (and thoroughly, mind you) dousing the fire and collecting their belongings. Making sure that Curiosity was still with them—which he was, loyal chap—they set off to explore. Naturally, the girl nudged their expedition east, toward the Great River and the Rock Bridge, in the hopes that they might soon meet the meadows of the camp waiting by the Stone Table.

They strode through the wood, taking note of how some trees were beginning to blossom, and the icicles were quickly shrinking. "Winter is almost over, isn't it?" James asked thoughtfully.

"Yes. The presence of the human children has brought hope to Narnia, and that is beginning to weaken the witch's power."

"You're beginning to talk like a Narnian, aren't you?"

"What?—Don't be absurd!"

He laughed heartily. "Absurd? Don't think I have ever heard that from you before. And 'the presence of the human children'? You speak of them as though they are a different species than you."

"But they are—."

"Yes, yes, but I mean as though you've never _been_ human."

"I'm just narrating, here!"

"Whatever you say, pet." They set up in a small clearing, where most of the snow had melted away and much of the area was lush and green. Lunch was prepared—just some fruit and fish caught in a stream they had crossed earlier—and they tucked in. "But you know," he said thoughtfully, cooking the pavenders, "even with the winter nearing an end, we have seen a rather small semblance of inhabitants, haven't we? I mean, aside from these trees and our fox, the only other life we have met were these fish." He paused to tear a chunk off the filet of one of the raw fish with his teeth.

"Er...you know you haven't cooked that yet, right?"

He gave her a please-don't-laugh-at-me smile. "I know. I've preferred raw fish to cooked for years—since I became captain of the _Dauntless_, I suppose. I'm not entirely certain why, but it probably has something to do with that time I was stranded without provision." His eyes grew distant for a moment. "But that was a long, _long_ time ago."

They ate in silence for a few moments. "Tell me about it," she said after a while. "Will you? I'd like to hear it."

He stared at her with a contemplating expression for several moments. "As you might have figured, I was still a lieutenant. First Leftenant to Captain Robert Greenleaf on the schooner _HMS Fortitude_. We were on our way back to Port Royal when a storm struck us. A violent, deadly tempest that tossed us around like a plaything." And so he drew her into his memory, their minds and imaginations linking, as he told a story of how he had been shipwrecked and stranded on a tiny island, having to make due with roots and plants and raw fish, because there was no dry wood to make a fire. "...'The crew—and Theodore, especially—seemed very enthusiastic to have me among them. Do you have any fish? Preferably raw?' The captain looked at me like I had grown another head," he finished with a chuckle. The memory faded.

"Wow," was the girl's awed response. "So how was the ride home? Smooth sailing?"

"The sailing was smooth. The cat' was not." She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "For disobeying him and scaring him so badly, the captain made sure I received a sound lashing; with the cat o' nine tails."

"Ouch! That's crazy!"

"Insubordination, love. It merits punishment in the Navy."

They returned to their neglected lunches. "That was a great story. You could have been a bard in another life."

James laughed. "That's likely! I'm no weaver of tales, believe me." He was about to continue, then hesitated. "Do you know what I just noticed when reliving that time?"

"What's that?"

"Even on a minuscule, one-hectare island, there was still more wildlife than there is here."

It was as he was finishing this statement that there was a snarl nearby. They both leapt to their feet and listened, before stalking to the bushes and looking through. A handful of huge gray wolves were sniffing desperately around the woods not far off. "We've lost the scent," one said to the wolf in the lead.

"The witch won't tolerate slackers," Maugrim growled. "Find him, or you'll take his punishment instead."

"Who are they looking for?" James whispered to the lass.

"A fox who helped the four kids I was telling you about. Wait—no!" Curiosity was sniffing curiously at the wolves, and on a curious impulse, had stepped through the bushes toward the lupines. "Get back here," she hissed.

The fox turned to look at her pleadingly—but the wolves had already noticed him. The fox, realizing the danger, sprinted back to hide between her legs, and the wolves gave chase, leaping into the clearing. They circled the trio, teeth bared. "Retrieve the fox," Maugrim ordered. "Bring him to the Witch. He's the one who led us astray." Another wolf snatched up the fox—who yelped in alarm—and immediately dashed off.

"What—wait! That's the wrong fox! The one you're looking for is rallying troops for Aslan by the Western Wood," Ames cried. "This one cannot even talk."

"Then regardless, he is not an ally of the Witch. We'll see what _she_ decides. As for you, sprite, you would do well to join your kindred in the Witch's army. You are late for preparations."

"And _you_ are wasting time talking to us," James cut in. Several of the wolves withdrew at the sight of him, tails curling between their legs. "That fox is with us, and we'll have him back."

"Keep out of this, stranger," Maugrim snapped with a snarl. "Unless you want to be taken in as well." He barked to his pack and they took off into the trees.

Silence fell for a few moments. "Well are you happy now?" Ames snapped. "_There_'s your wildlife."

"This is your fault."

"Mine!"

"If we had just left when I suggested instead of playing around here, the fox's life would not be threatened. Do you have any idea how this could affect Jack?"

"Oh don't go blaming me—You're the one who agreed to let us stay."

"Not like I had any choice. _You're _the only one who can take us back anyway."

"I would have taken us back if you had insisted!"

"Enough. As much as I would love to continue this argument, now is not the time." He sighed in self retribution. "Here we are, a pair of skilled fighters, and we did nothing."

"We were outnumbered five-to-one. There was nothing we could do."

"There were only six—."

"And you _know_ you would have had to fight five of them. As far as I'm concerned, I can only take on one opponent at a time."

James sighed frustratedly. "Well, 'sprite', what do we do now? We need to get him back."

"We've got one hope now." She turned to face the Eastern Sea, sparkling on the horizon. "Aslan."

For the next few days, they trekked across the land. They traversed through woods and meadows, the land growing greener and greener. They scaled the Rock Bridge, and paused to look out over Narnia. Looking back, they could see the Western Wood, whence they came; a shadow on the horizon. Looking ahead to the east, they could see the castle Cair Paravel and the Eastern Sea, near their destination.

The thunder of the falls on the Great River, now no longer frozen, grew near, and they emerged into a small clearing overlooking said falls. James padded forward on all fours (as he did on occasion, for it felt just as natural to move as such) and leaned over the edge to watch the river. "I'm sorry, my friend," his ear flicked back as the sprite spoke, and he turned to see her standing beside a stone fox, her hand on his head. "Your efforts were not in vain. Help will come soon." He moved back to crouch beside her, tail curling around him. "He's the other fox—the one who helped the Pevensies, and who Maugrim and his wolves were really after."

"And you say that he will yet survive?" Returning a person from stone seemed to lie beyond possibility.

"Aslan will save him."

"You keep saying that. Aslan is just a lion, isn't he?" It was an innocent enough question, so she pursed her lips against a curt reply.

"You won't think that when you meet him."

His ears perked at this, but he continued to stare at the fox. After a long, thoughtful silence, he asked, "Where now?"

"We need to cross the river, and then we can follow it for a while before it turns south."

"All right, but how are we to cross?"

Shrug. "We could always try swimming."

"But you're a terrible swimmer."

"But _you_ aren't. I can brace myself against you if I have to. Look, the river's really not that wide, and I can't be very heavy."

"All right. It is also pretty shallow—or so I take it to be; it appears so. The current is fast, though, and the water cold, so be ready." They scaled the cliffs down to the rocky bank—the lass needed some help since many of the boulders were bigger than she was. "All right, ready? Jump!" They plunged into the water, still icy cold. James surged toward the surface, grasping her arm and hauling her up with him. "Come on!" he roared over the roar. He struck out for the bank, and could have made it in a matter of moments had the sprite's smaller strokes not hindered him. She was holding her own against the current—in fact, she was working _with_ it, swimming at an angle so that it propelled her toward the shore.

They did not anticipate the deep trench and dangerous undertow that ran down the river's middle. When they reached it, the deadly current took hold of the girl's tiny, light form, and she was pulled under with a yell of surprise. "Amy!" James dove under, but the water was so stirred up that he couldn't see a thing.

He struggled back to the surface, fighting the undertow, looking frantically down river for any sign of her; but she was nowhere to be seen. He was about to swim after her when she shouted, "James, I'm over here!"

He looked to see her standing on the shore not far down river, jumping and waving her arms. Breathing a sigh of relief, he struck out toward her, and soon was shaking the water from his fur on the bank, impulsively licking his paws and drying his face with them. (And after realizing he was doing this, he embarrassedly dropped his hands to his sides.) "Are you all right?"

She coughed a few times. "I'll be fine. I've just got water up my nose." They smiled at one another in relief and reassurance. She looked forward. "On the bright side, we won't be needing our cloaks anymore." Every tree and plant from here on was green and alive and in bloom.

They stuffed their cloaks into Norrington's pack. "When did we get packs anyway?" he wondered.

"I dunno. Prob'ly when we got to the wardrobe. Aslan must have given them to us. He knows we'd need them." She began into the woods.

Her words had James vexed. He stood for a moment in confusion, before realizing her absence and catching up with her. "But how could he have given us anything if we never met him? It was just us and only us when we arrived." She turned and looked up at him with a knowing smile and a wink.


	3. Prejudiced Pride

**Chapter Three:** **The Pride of the Prejudiced**

They continued East, through the woods and meadows. The land grew greener and greener as they went, more alive. The occasional bird flitted through the trees above them; at last a sign that they were not alone.

They camped in an emerald clearing very near their destination. A cardinal or two was perched in a tree, keeping an eye on them. "Why do we wait?" James asked as the lass began to set up camp. "It is only midday."

"There's no need to hurry. According to the sequence of the book and the movie, Aslan will not be able to get to the Witch's castle until the day of the war."

"Then Curiosity could die long before we ever get to him."

"We can't go at alone. Not without Aslan. We'd be caught too, and likely turned to stone." James looked at her sharply with an alarmed expression. "Just the same as the fox," she added in a mutter.

"Then is there no hope?" he cried.

"There's only one way to find out."

"You keep saying that! We _cannot_ just wait around and see. We _cannot_ put our faith in Aslan to do this for us!"

"Do not say such things!" she shouted with an intensity that startled him, and beyond that, shut him up. "Do not be so quick to judge against him. You don't know him like I do. Has the Navy not taught you patience?"

"Forgive me," he said after a moment's realization. "Let me rephrase my initial question. Why do you want to wait until tomorrow?"

"To give me time to compose myself." He fixed her with a questioning gaze, one ear pricked forward, the other off to one side. "Didn't you hear Maugrim? He said that sprites, like me, were fighting in the Witch's army. I fear Aslan's troops will not readily welcome someone who looks like an enemy."

He stood protectively over her. "Then I shall be ready to fight in your defense. They cannot judge you before you ever have a chance to explain yourself."

Her green eyebrow suddenly quirked. "This coming from the person who just blatantly judged Aslan's ability and reliability on handling our fates when we entrust them to him—him with whom you've not yet been acquainted."

He flicked his ears in acknowledgement. "Then we go tomorrow. No later."

—

Tomorrow came in a hurry, hardly giving the sprite the chance to do what she had given herself the extra time to do. Before she knew it, she and James were striding side by side toward the entrance to Aslan's camp, all uncertainties masked by a calm confidence. The centaur on lookout—James had to do a double-take—blew into his horn to announce their arrival.

As they strode through the camp, heads turned to stare. Centaurs, fauns, satyrs, leopards, cheetahs, bears, and other assorted creatures, mythical and not, added to James' invisible wonder as he passed them by—although he made a point not to look at them, eyes fixed instead on their destination: the great red tent.

There were two distinct reactions to the strangers. One was awe at the noble appearance of the lion-like James, and the other, unfortunately, was disdain toward the sprite. Three of the four children emerged from their tents to watch (for the fourth had betrayed them and been captured by the Witch).

When they reached the tent, a centaur, Oreius, approached from his post. "You, sprite. What is your purpose here?" he demanded.

She lifted her chin and quoted in her best William Mosely voice (and painfully aware that Peter was watching her), "'We have come to see Aslan.'"

"You have no business with Aslan, sprite. Run back to the Witch's army. You are unwelcome here."

"I told you he couldn't help us," James muttered frustratedly, though audibly.

"Have a little faith, James. Oreius does not control Aslan's decisions. If Aslan wants us to see him, then we shall see him." He gave her a guardedly bemused sidward glance. Why was she so calm? Even now, as troops were throwing insults at her back, she did not flinch.

"Come to spy, have you?" "Traitor." "Scum." "Giving in already?" "Pixie." (Apparently it is insulting to call a sprite a pixie.) "Taken prisoner already? The fighting isn't even started yet." "Groveling for forgiveness, are you?"

"Enough," a deep voice commanded, that was both awesome and gentle at the same time—that could have been heard in all reaches of the camp and yet was hardly more than murmured—and the jeering and whistling were silenced. The curtains of the tent quivered, before a huge, magnificent, golden lion stepped out. Everyone, including Amy, bowed in his presence, and James could only stand dumbly, staring in awe, mouth agape. "Who are you both, and why have you come here?" he asked as they stood again.

"I am Amy. This is James. Our business, I am afraid, is to ask for your help." This set the camp murmuring. "But the details are not necessary for all to hear." The world order must be preserved. "May we speak with you in private, Your Majesty?" she requested modestly.

"They are spies of the Witch's army. We cannot trust them."

"Peace, Oreius." The great lion slowly circled them, stopping before James. "Welcome, brother. You have lion blood running through your veins, and that makes us kin. It is said that lion's blood is held in high respect and nobility. Your trust and loyalty shall not be doubted. And your experience in war will greatly help my soldiers."

James blinked, brow knit in confusion. "How do you know of my past endeavours?"

Aslan smiled. "Your posture, for one, and your scars."

"Highness, I am in armour, if you have not noticed."

"Your scars are not on your skin. They are in your eyes." James blinked and looked away. Aslan turned to the sprite. He lowered his head so they were nose to nose, stare burning into her, and took a great sniff at her. Tense, endless moments passed by before he suddenly began to laugh. "She had never been in league with the Witch. Her intent all along was to join our side." James looked at her sharply. All she could do was grin innocently up at her nephew and bat her eyes a few times. "Come, I shall speak with the two of you over matters concerning your fox." The great lion turned and went into his tent.

Ames and James followed. "You know," the latter muttered, "I do not recall either of us mentioning any fox."

—

"You are well aware of the existence of other Realms," Ames began.

"That is true."

"We both hail from a place far beyond either of these two worlds tethered together. Our friend was Shattered into seven manifestations of his emotions and traits. One of them is here, and has been captured by the White Witch."

"You have brought a great danger to this world," Aslan growled with the beginnings of fury, before instantly calming with understanding and amending, "No. It has come on its own. Your intentions are to capture and remove it to protect this world."

"That's true, but—."

"You are doing it more to save your friend than to save this world," he finished for her knowingly. "I understand." Their silence was an affirmation. "I will do what I can, but you must let me do it when the time is right. I must ask that you have patience and that you do not attempt to rescue him on your own. You alone are no match for the Witch and her army."

"Then what do you propose we do in the meantime?" It was the first time James had spoken since entering the great scarlet tent, and instead of sounding frustrated as expected, he sounded merely subdued and weary. Ames blinked; perhaps he was at last beginning to understand?

"Lend this army your skills. And hone your own so that you will be ready for battle."

The little sprite's eyes widened in alarm. James pushed his arm in front of her protectively. "We did not come to fight," he declared, a hint of a roar behind his voice. "However," he went on in more reasonable tones, "we would be willing to lend our services and help."

Aslan nodded in acceptance. "That is all I ask. Brave James, I ask you to work with my generals and Peter to plan our attack and strategy."

"I only—."

"You doubt yourself. Do not worry. Tactics at sea are not the only tactics that you know," the great lion assured him with amused undertones. When poor James' jaw dropped, he laughed heartily, a rumble contagious enough to bring a smile to all of Narnia. "You will have to trust me." The mood calmed. "Sprite," he turned to the green-haired lass. "You will learn the art of archery and help to train Susan and Lucy." The lass's face subtly fell. "I understand that you are not fond of many children younger than yourself, but if you are patient and open-minded, you will see her as 'Lucy' instead of as 'child'. Both sisters are intelligent and fast learners. Much like you. I trust your skill and your devotion, focus, and ardor will greatly help them."

James could tell that she didn't want to do, but she merely bowed slightly and said, "As you wish, my lord."

He sensed a subtle pride coming from the great cat, and wondered at it. "I thank you," he said to them. "Oreius will show you to your tents."

"Tents?" Ames and James looked at one another. "We'll be separated?"

Aslan laughed again. "It is only for the nights. By day you will see one another often."

"Yeah, but..." They used evening as bonding/comfort time. She sighed, shaking her head, it would only be for while they were here. "Nevermind. Anyway, thank you, Aslan. I known you have much more to worry about than to help our friend."

"And I thank you for your willingness to help Narnia. Good luck, and farewell."

They bowed respectfully and ducked out of the tent. "What was that all about?" James demanded.

"Thewhodidthewhatandthewhynow?" she asked, snapping our of her reverie.

"That Aslan. He—we—it—wh—ugh." He grunted, trying to straighten out his words. "He knew our hearts and our minds and our thoughts even before we spoke them. He knows I was in the Navy and that you possess a fighting prowess that was quick to develop. He knows," he lowered his voice, "that you and I are human and not of this world. It is as if he knows us as well as we do."

"Better, actually. Don't you like him?" She sounded as though this troubled her greatly.

"No, I _do_. _That's_ what I find so strange. Normally I cannot trust a person until I know him better, but this _Aslan_—as soon as I laid eyes on him and heard him speak, I felt the strangest urge to embrace him."

The tiny person let out her breath with a _whoosh_, relieved. "If your gut is telling you to like him, then like him already. Quit being so suspicious all the time."

It was James's turn to sigh, this time in frustrated acquiescence, ears sagging. "Where is that Oreius?"

"Just went into Aslan's tent. I s'pose he'll be out in a minute or so to show us around."

James, in a crouch so as to be at eye level, suddenly grabbed her shoulder. "Hush." His ears swivelled backward to listen, fury burning in his fathomless emerald eyes as he turned his head ever so slightly to look out the corner of his eye at the offenders. Ames, quickly understanding, allowed herself to slip back into her old habit of eavesdropping.

"But how in Narnia can Aslan know that she is not a spy from the Witch's army?" a faun was asking. She was immediately resentful toward him and his tone.

"Nay," a goat-faced satyr replied, "she has a different look about her. Not the bloodred eyes and black hair of the Dark Sprites corrupted by the Witch. She is a normal sprite."

"But the other sprites have chosen neutrality. What could this one want with something her entire race obviously doesn't give a whit about?" James lashed his tail, seething, a muscle tightening in his jaw. "And they _are_ such flighty creatures. What if she were to abandon us at our greatest time of need?"

"The lion-man—let us call him the mion—trusts her. They have obviously been working together a long time. Aslan seems to trust him a great deal already."

"Well, dark sprite or no, I do not think we can trust _her_. Surely Aslan will see through her guise. She must be dealt with, and he will handle her."

"And _we_ cannot get near her, besides, with that mion always by her side." The gossipers fell to discussing what a strange sight _he_ was, and the two eavesdroppers continued to listen in, seething and fuming.


	4. Mind Elsewhere

**Chapter Four: Mind Elsewhere**

"You've lost a friend to the Witch, too?" a voice interrupted their eavesdropping. They turned to see Peter, a strapping teenage sandy-blonde, with his two sisters standing arm in arm nearby.

James stood up, looking apologetically at the sprite (who would be left far below), and answered in the affirmative. "The wolves mistook him for another and stole him before we ever had a chance to fight back."

By their dress, Ames could tell that they had arrived only shortly she and James had.

"Our brother was captured too," Lucy said.

James' ears came up in alarm. "How could that be?"

"He went to her," Peter explained grimly. "He betrayed us."

_A Judas...even among children?_ she heard James think in a strong wave of shock.

Amy, who saw that repeating Edmund's betrayal had begun to upset Lucy, assured her, "He'll be all right."

"How do you know?" Susan asked. She didn't say it rudely, just wondered.

The sprite craned her head upward to meet the gazes of the taller Susan and Peter. "Because he is in Aslan's paws. And Aslan won't let anything bad happen."

There was a snort behind them. James and Ames turned to see Oreius approaching. He was frowning skeptically at the sprite. "Friendly words will not gain our trust."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You doubt Aslan can save the human child?"

The centaur answered with the amusement that peoples with a superior complex tend to have when picking out the 'faults' of those 'below' them. "You may have convinced Aslan, but your words will not fool us."

"Well that's all very well," she replied evenly, "because I do not intend to fool anybody."

"You are calling Aslan a fool?" James growled, tail lashing.

The lass laid a hand on his armored arm. "Easy, sailor. This is not the time nor place. There'll be plenty of time for confrontation after the war, when we know for sure which assumptions are true and which are false. Now," she turned back to the warrior, "before you can say some other irritating thing,—"

",—I believe you came here to tell us where we are staying," James finished the thought.

The centaur's expression softened (for lack of a better word) when he faced the mion. "You will be sharing a tent with King Peter, _General_ Norrington." James and Peter exchanged expressions. "And you, sprite, Aslan has placed with our young Queens." That meant Susan and Lucy. "If you abuse your proximity to such important victims, then so help me, I'll—."

"You'll do nothing," James shouted with a roar behind his words, surging forward until he was nose to nose with the centaur, glaring into his eyes with a blazing emerald fire in his gaze. "Let us rephrase your threat, shall we? If _you_ so much as lay a hand or hoof on my kin," here he wrapped his tail round the lass and drew her close to him, "then I will not hesitate in killing you."

"_James!_" she kicked his shin. "What did I _just_ say? A time for confrontation will come. But not is not the opportune moment, savvy?" James slowly turned his head to look at her, teeth gritted, ears flattened, eyes glittering with fury. With a final glance and growl at the centaur, he whirled around and stormed away. She let him go.

"Where's he going?" Lucy wondered.

"I imagine he needs some time alone with his thoughts," Ames replied with vague concern edging an otherwise calm voice. "When he's calmed down, he'll come back. Brave, misled centaur, I apologize on his behalf for his discourtesy toward you." Oreius, still stunned that 'Aslan's kin' had threatened him so, could do little more than shake his head dumbly.

"I think it's best if you left us," Peter told him calmly. Taking heed of his King's words, the centaur turned and left, hooves clipping and clopping melodiously against the ground. Peter turned back to the sprite. "You seem pretty calm for someone no one else trusts."

This time she laughed out loud. "It doesn't matter if everyone else believes me," she answered with a shake of her head and a spark in her eyes. "_I _know I'm trustable. _Aslan_ knows I'm trustable. That's all that matters, isn't it?" Peter couldn't hide his smile.

"If it helps any, _I _believe you." Ames turned to see Lucy, still holding her sister's hand.

She smiled and bowed with a flourish (for naturally she had to play the part). "I thank you, milady."

Susan and Peter exchanged glances before smiling and agreeing. "I'm Peter, that's Susan and Lucy. Our brother's name is Edmund."

"But then I'm sure you already knew that," Susan mused thoughtfully.

"My name is Amy. My partner's name is James. It is a pleasure to meet you, although it would be pleasanter still were the circumstances better."

"Yes," Peter agreed. "But we're going to _make_ it better."

"Naturally. Now, I suppose you all should rest. You've only just gotten here, yes? And you've had a long and trying journey."

"But what about you?"

"Me? I'll be right here to wait for James to come back, and then he and I will explore the camp. We have some things to discuss."

"All right." He started to follow his sisters into their tent (so that they might stay together for the while), then paused, holding the flap open. "Good luck—with everyone else, I mean."

She tsked once, giving him the impression that she was older than him. "Oh, now don't give any mind to that. With my charm and good looks, how can they resist me?" She flipped her hair, and he smiled. "No, you don't need to worry about that, savvy? Just go and get some rest." He nodded, and the tent flap fell closed behind him. Her posture drooped a little. She wisht her confidence was as genuine as it had sounded. With a sigh, she sat down on the natural step created by a great stone slab. What had gotten into James? He was never that quick to lose his temper. In fact, she wasn't sure he lost his temper _ever_. She knew he felt protective of her, but he had never acted like that before. Even in Tortuga, with two pirates threatening her, he had kept his cool. _What are you to me?_ _What good have you ever been to me?_ He hadn't seemed so worried about her when he'd woken up from the Seeing Sleep. Had he meant what he'd said? Tia Dalma had said his mind had not returned from Narnia when he'd woken up. But then, how had he spoken to her at all? And why so hurtfully? She wondered if it had changed him somehow. After all, Teacher had also said that the process could cause insanity. But he wasn't saying odd things, talking to voices, hallucinating, or losing control of his limbs and bodily functions. He was just more verbally abusive than he had been, and then only sporadically. She shook her head with a gusty sigh. He was probably just shaken up after meeting Aslan. He'd be back to normal after calming down.

She suddenly wished she had her flute (which was one of the first times, for she liked to tell herself she was not fond of the instrument)—some music would soothe her soul. With a sigh, she stretched out her legs to relax and fight the longing, and accidentally kicked her pack. It toppled to one side, and out slid something shiny, silver, and sprite-sized. A flute! "Now how long has that been in there?" She seized it and rolled it over in her hands. With an eyebrow cocked, she glanced toward Aslan's tent. The scarlet cloth billowed innocently in the light breeze. She couldn't help but grin. Giving silent thanks, she lifted it to her lips and, naturally, began to play music from the soundtracks of Pirates, Narnia, and Lord of the Rings.

James had been sulking at the edge of camp for a while now. It was unfamiliar to him—the whole sulking thing. He supposed it was because he had always gone and _done _something in the past—sparred or gone fishing or gone swimming until his arms refused to respond and dragging himself ashore exhausted and half-drowned (this seemed to be a hobby of his)—but now, with none of those opportunities available, he was forced to bask in his anger and irritation—and more than that, in his confusion. He wasn't sure why the mask had slipped—nay, shattered—nor why he'd simultaneously had the notion that he was falling into an active volcano. But the centaur had been asking for it, and who was James to deny him? He scratched his ears, then contemplated them with a hand that was also not a hand, and sighed gustily. Perhaps everything was just getting to him. But deep down he knew: something was not right.

Now, Narnia was dimming as the sun crept closer to the horizon and the shadows lengthened. He was stalking slowly in the decrescendoing quiet, down the main clearing of the camp, arms folded neatly behind him. His eyes stared thoughtfully, sightlessly at the ground, oblivious to the sideward stares many of the Narnian soldiers cast his way as he passed. His ears pricked when the light tinkling of a happy melody tickled at them, and he looked up to see the sprite not far off, fiddling with a small flute (although, for its small size, it sounded just the same as a regular flute) and an improvisational variation on 'Concerning Hobbits.' She seemed so content and worry-free. He shook his head with a rueful smile, realizing what an immature fool he had been. Sometimes she seemed so much wiser than him. It reminded him of the wisdom that shows through in children, where sometimes they seem to know better than even their parents. He had to shake his ears to keep from otherwise shuddering at the thought of small children. A reader may imagine that he is not good with kids.

It took him a moment to realize that the music had stopped, and he looked back to the lass to see her staring blankly into space. "Are you all right after all?" he asked softly.

"Just thinking," she answered distantly, struggling back to the surface. She sounded as though she did not like what she had realized, and this concerned him. "When we left Tia Dalma's place, there's about a month left until Dead Man's Chest premiers." She paused, as though trying to finish figuring out a concept.

James stared at her a moment, waiting for her to continue. "And...this troubles you?"

"I don't know. It might trouble us all if my theory is correct."

"And what, praytell, is this theory of yours?"

"When the movie comes out, your Realm and mine will naturally be drawn closer together. As will the corresponding people and characters."

"All right, I'm following you so far..."

"So that means you will be pulled closer. And so will Jack. But Jack isn't just in your Realm. He's also here and somewhere else. These Realms will be drawn closer, too. But it won't be natural, and so any natural limits would be bypassed." She paused to swallow and calm herself. "It could cause an inter-dimensional collision."

* * *

><p>Oh dear, what seems to be going on with James? Leave a review and find out! Thanks!<p> 


	5. Wonder Awakened

**Disclaimer: Bunny plus sheep equals beep. Cap'n Mera plus owning Pirates equals a lie. Like cake. **

**Chapter Five: Awakening**

The next day, training began. The head archer, an experienced female centaur, was charged with training Ames to use her bow and arrow. Despite her prejudices, she was impressed. The sprite had excellent aim for a beginner, although it took her a very long time to set up her shot. Acting with the willingness of a teacher to teach any student willing to learn—for which the lass was grateful—she patiently instructed and corrected her, until her preparatory time had improved without affecting her aim (although neither were anywhere near what an expert would call 'good').

After several hours under the warm sun, the training session was called to an end. Amy, before her mentor could leave, bowed respectfully. "I thank you for your patience and willingness to teach me."

"You need not thank me as though we are working together solely because we were assigned to one another." The sprite looked up. "You are a good student and a fast learner. You take what I say and apply it."

"Aren't I supposed to?" the tiny teenager asked as she straightened.

The centauress snorted. "Sometimes I wonder is many of my students are deaf or stupid." Naturally shy, Amy had to look down as she smiled. "You are not so old as you give pretense to, are you? Why, you're still a filly."

"Is this a bad thing...Ma'am?"

"Call me Brighid. And no, it is not. When I think on the way others think, I believe they would see you as a sprite youngling who did not agree with the decision her people made, and ran away to join us before her parents could force her to conform, if only everyone knew your youth."

"I'm afraid I make a petulant child," she admitted with a rueful smile. "And besides, pretending is much too fun. It makes me feel enigmatic."

Brighid laughed. "Well, the more enigmatic you are, the less people will trust you. I shall see you again at the same time tomorrow, but right now, if you'll excuse me, I must meet with Oreius about where best to place our archers. Farewell." And with a small salute, the magnificent centauress turned and left, leaving the lass to collect her arrows.

James was just exiting Peter's tent as Ames walked by. He lowered himself to all fours and strolled with her through the camp. "Once again, I must note that you seem unconcerned regarding Jack's curiosity," he at last rumbled softly.

"That's right," she answered evenly, eyes continuing to stare at the ground, arms folded professionally behind her back. "Canon seems to favor his survival. However, I understand that we cannot be certain." She stopped walking. "Will you guard me for a moment? I'm going to try to reach him."

James only nodded, sitting and leaning against a crate, out of the way, and allowing her to sit in his lap. As her eyes went blank, he held her in his arms, and leaned his head back so that it looked like they were napping. Contrarily, he was painfully aware, senses alert, for now that his aunt was more vulnerable, who would hesitate?

She reached out as far as she thought she could. She sensed Aslan everywhere she went—even when she reached Jadis's castle. She couldn't see it though. She wasn't searching for something she could see, but for something she could feel. But once there, she felt the sudden urge to look around anyway—the sudden wonder at where exactly she was in the castle. A sudden urge to sniff every inch, to stick her nose into every crevice, a curiosity about what lie in every corner. Curiosity. Her eyes flew open. "He's still alive."

"Is he in the Witch's castle?"

"Yes."

The tip of his tail twitched, but he bit back his frustration, taking a calming breath. "Well—at least we know he is still alive."

"And for sure where he is."

James sighed, then shook his ears. "You're sure all we can do is wait?"

"I'm sure. But we'll be plenty busy to pass the time." His eyes flitted to meet hers, and he nodded.

—

The first week had in fact flown by. Ames and James had seen little of each other, and to Amy who was a clingy lost-puppy type, it made their separation all the worse.

By now, she had advanced enough in her own training to begin helping the girls. Along with that, she juggled weapon duty—carefully sharpening loads of spare weapons that had no specific owners (for it was indeed considered rude to polish and sharpen another's blade)—as well as trying to teach Peter how to ride a horse (although, with her minimal teaching skills, she thought, perhaps one of the centaurs should be doing this), _and_ even the occasional sparring match—which she normally lost, for they were always against prejudiced centaurs, fauns and satyrs. But that was okay; her job in these was only to season the soldiers to be able to fight quicker-moving, more nimble "wee folk", and she was able to surprise them with a victory of her own every once in a while. How she longed to be her own size again—if only to be able to swordfight with James in the style she was accustomed to. These swords with their purposes were used in an entirely different fashion. There was no strike-parry. There was only hack-stab.

Right now, Peter was having his special talk with Aslan, and everything seemed peaceful—until the frantic blowing of a horn cut through the morning. "Susan," the sprite hurriedly explained to her mion counterpart, grabbing her effects and taking off toward the sound like so many others.

James got there at the head of the group, sword drawn, like Oreius beside him. "No. Stay your weapons," Aslan ordered, having arrived with them, and Oreius motioned to those behind them not to attack. "This is Peter's battle."

Amy pushed her way to James' side. There were two wolves. One was pinned helplessly beneath Aslan's great paws. The other was Maugrim. He and Peter, with sword drawn, were circling each other. Susan and Lucy had taken refuge in the branches above them. The wolf leapt at him, and the girls screamed as Peter fell back. Even James was ready to spring forward. They scrambled out of the tree and rolled the motionless lupine off their brother; he was all right, and the wolf was dead—Amy felt a pang in spite of herself at the loss of a wolf's life, for wolves had always held a special place in her heart.

Aslan nipped the other wolf before releasing it, and it raced away in fear. "After him," he commanded. "He'll lead you to Edmund." James nodded, dropping to all fours and leading the party after the wolf.

Surprising herself, Amy was able to keep pace with everyone else in spite of her short strides, and it seemed less than an hour before they reached the Witch's camp, which was icy still, and shadowed so that it appeared to have the deceiving light of twilight. With a moment's observation, the party saw that the enemy's guard was down, and so without hesitation leapt into their midst. It was much easier than Ames had thought, and she felled a handful without incident or loss of life. She looked up to see James and Oreius heading toward the tree where Edmund was bound, and gagged, guarded by Ginnarbrik, and raced to join him. Oreius disabled the dwarf, and James kneeled down to untie the rope. Ames helped things along by removing the gag.

"And now we must leave," said Oreius.

"Wait," Ames said with a mischievous glint in her eye, "just one more thing." And she tied up Ginnarbrik in Edmund's place, gagged him, and pinned his hat comically to the tree with the knife he had been using to threaten the boy. Laughing at herself, she nodded to James, and the party left the clearing full of injured and motionless fiends, boy in tow, mission accomplished.

—

She was still running on adrenaline as they brought Edmund back to Aslan's camp. It was with great relief that Lucy, Susan, and the newly knighted Peter were reunited with their brother.

Ames watched with a small smile, arms crossed, from a distance. She turned to face James as he approached. "What are you doing over here by your lonesome?" he asked, crouching beside her.

"As opposed to where? Exchanges aren't particularly friendly at the moment, in case you haven't noticed."

"I have noticed," he replied, eyes glinting, "and I think that your fortunes are improved."

Her pointed ears pricked. "What do you mean?"

"Oreius has been telling the others how well you fought, and about your little prank. He's convinced some that you have proven your loyalty."

A green eyebrow rose. "Only some?" She didn't sound surprised. "At least there are even that many."

"They want to meet you and apologize for their behaviour and treatment of you."

"I'm touched. Give them my thanks."

"You can thank them yourself. They're waiting for you right now." And without giving her time to protest, he grabbed her arm and dragged her after him.

"What am I, baggage?" she muttered, struggling to keep pace with him. Part of her baulked at the idea of meeting with these people, who until so recently had treated her with nothing but contempt; another part of her baulked at the idea of having to get up in front of so many people in general—the idea nearly made her dig in her heels and refuse to go any further.

They rounded a corner, and there everyone was—a small fraction out of the entire army, but still a good number of people—at least forty. When she and James were noticed, the looks that came her way were just as contemptuous as before, and for a moment she thought it was all one sick joke, before smiles began to break out and they began to greet her. She realized the aforementioned critical scowls had merely been presented out of habit, for as she met and spoke with the fauns, satyrs, centaurs, the occasional big cat, and a boxer whose tail was wagging so hard she thought it might break, she saw the sincerity in their faces and received their apologies with grace.

To top off what had become a very good day, just after supper, Aslan notified Ames and James that they would be sharing their own tent, so that Edmund would have a place in his brother's tent. "Thank you for having cooperated in the time that you were separated."

"No," the sprite had replied, finally acting on impulse and hugging him. "Thank _you_."

Now, she and her nephew were preparing for bed in their cosy tent. "My face hurts," she told him.

He purred. "What–from smiling so much?"

And so, with cheerful exhaustion, they blew out their candles and lanterns and climbed into their beds. The lass was wary, however, because good days nearly always ended badly for her. But she was still aglow with cheer as she began to relax, and with James purring softly as he slipped toward sleep and the sounds of the night to guide Amy into slumber, it was hard to imagine that anything could go wrong. Just as she fell asleep, she felt an intense flash of foreboding, and her last waking thought was feeling that she had forgotten something very, very important.

—

Chocolate eyes fluttered open to a small bedroom aglow with the warm golden radiance of mid-morning.

Tia Dalma was mixing herbs and flower petals in a wooden bowl in her back room—the place where she kept all her ingredients. She looked up at the sound of footsteps. The girl and her big-brother of a nephew must have returned. It was not two mornings since they had left. She ducked under the curtain of beads, seeds, nuts, and shells, and encountered not whom she expected to encounter. What she found was none other than Jack Sparrow. Or at least...part of him. He was looking around the shack with a confused, though peaceful expression, and when the curtain made noise, he turned to face her.

Tia Dalma's breath was drawn away at the sight of him. He looked the one way she had never seen him before: innocent as a newborn, and with as many memories as one. There was a golden glow about him, which occasionally rippled around the room as though reflected by water. "Jack Sparra' has awakened."

He did not respond. He merely tipped his head to one side, gaze—more intense, more direct, more deep than ever—never leaving hers. And his silence, though unnerving it would have been in the past, was peaceful and innocent; almost soothing.

She frowned after a moment. In such a place as he was, he took no notice of the jars hanging from the ceiling, or the foreign artifacts strewn about. Her heart twisted with pity at the lack of his curiosity—but it also twisted with confusion, for when he looked at her, she saw wonder in his eyes, Wonder which was a part of Curiosity. She resolved not to ponder this, however, at least not yet. She had other work to attend to, and so retreated behind the seed curtain again. The ghost sharing her inhabitance would not go anywhere. She knew not what he would do, but she knew what he could not.

As she was mixing some honey into the mash, she heard the shell curtain jingle, and looked up to see him standing there, sniffing the air tentatively. His eyes slid about the room, seeking out to source of the enticing aroma. Those fathomless chocolate orbs landed on the humble wooden bowl, then flitted to meet her gaze, asking a silent question.

The priestess's heart skipped a beat, and with small bewilderment, answered, "It is a poultice for cleaning wounds. I read a sign, said danger on de way. Must be prepared." She had been disappointed as she had acknowledged the absence of curiosity in the pirate. But now that he was showing some sort of the trait—even more than his earlier wonder—she felt only confused. How could he be curious when Curiosity was off in another world?

Had something happened to the manifestation?

But what? If it had died, the Commodore and Amy would have come back—for indeed, its death _could_ possibly remotely cause the traits manifested to travel back to their home Realm...but only if they were undamaged, which would not work, because if it had been killed, it had been damaged. Could it be dead without having been killed? That seemed unlikely, considering the emotion, and that question yielded no answers. But then what?

As the morning passed, Tia Dalma mumbled an incantation to her claws and bones, giving them a shake before scattering them on her divination table. What she read in them confused her. She rose, expression stunned, and fetched the runes (which she had bartered long ago and had never used but once). She repeated her incantation and scattered them over her previous casting. The answer was the same.

Calypso's brow furrowed, as she began to understand. "So him dead wit'oot bein' dead."

—

A couple of days later, late in the morning, Peter and his brother were engaged in a mock battle, Ames silently observing their technique and horsemanship with a critical eye. However, her eyes also followed their mounts. The unicorn—his name was Balthier—had been wonderful to work with. Being a unicorn, he had sensed her honesty from the beginning, and instinctively trusted her. And, unlike the movie, he looked real—not like a 'white' (though, to be technical, actually grey) horse with a plastic horn stuck to his brow. Philip, Edmund's chestnut, had worked nicely as well—most of the creatures who were not part human trusted her—though it was not unlike him to complain or goof off.

"Come on, Ed!" Peter cried cheerfully, "Sword-point up, like Mr. Norrington showed us!"

"On guard!" Their swords flashed and clanged together.

"Now block!"

"Hey!"

Movement out the corner of her eye detected the arrival of Beaver, and the sprite watched with amusement as Philip spooked and Edmund was awkward.

"The Witch has demanded a meeting with Aslan," Beaver announced. "She's on her way here."

Ames' blood ran cold. She knew now what she had been forgetting.

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><p>There you go!<p> 


	6. Deep Magic

Sorry about the slight delay. Fanfic wouldn't let me nevigate my account at all, so I couldn't get into the document manager. But it works now! :D

**Disclaimer:** I shall know copyright laws like the back of my hand, or I'll know the back of Disney's.

**Chapter Six: Truths Better Left Lied About**

And so came the White Witch, carried on a litter by four ugly cyclops, and accompanied by her commanding general and a patrol of other minotaurs. The dwarf Ginnarbrik strode in front of the procession, announcing "The Queen of Narnia!" and other such nonsense.

The entirety of Aslan's army lined their path, all the way to the lion's tent; the King of Narnia himself waited outside of it, eyes never leaving the witch. Some bellowed their outrage, along with some obscenities—however, others were wary and bewildered, asking one another, "What should we do?"

James, beside Amy and the four Pevensie children, lashed his tail, a soft growl rumbling in the back of his throat, threatening to grow into a snarl at any moment. His paw (hand?) rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to jump into battle in an instant. She looked like a woman—a tall woman—and normally he would have delayed his judgement until he had seen just what kind of person she was—but deep inside, animal instinct was screaming of danger and evil. After all, this was the creature that had stolen Jack Sparrow's curiosity.

The nightmarish creatures (though also goofy and clumsy-looking) set down the litter, and the embodiment of all that is Sin and Temptation rose, and began to approach Aslan. "You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan," she said informatively, glancing at Edmund. A murmur of shock went through the crowd, and James' snarl finally came out as he tightened his grip on his sword.

"His offense was not against you," the Great Lion replied calmly.

"Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?"

"Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch," Aslan commanded with a roar in his voice, adding in a growl, "I was there when it was written."

"Then you'll remember well that every traitor belongs to me," the witch replied. "His blood is my property."

Peter drew his sword and cried, "Try and take him then!" Aslan and James growled warning to him as Jadis gazed at him with disdain.

"Do you really think that mere force will deny me my right, little king? Aslan knows that, unless I have blood as the law demands," she turned to face the crowd and raised her voice, "all of Narnia will be overturned, and perish in fire and water. That boy," she pointed menacingly at Edmund, "will die, on the Stone Table." Cries of protest rang out among the ranks. "As is tradition. You dare not refuse me."

"Enough," Aslan said quietly. "I shall talk with you alone." The two retreated into the great red tent.

"Nothing now but to wait," Amy sighed; the bitterness in her voice, however calm she seemed, could not be missed.

"I don't understand," James growled, massaging his paw where he had held his sword too tensely. "What can Aslan do to stop this, if stopping it will only destroy Narnia?"

Amy remained silent, only staring solemnly at the scarlet tent that held the two most powerful beings she would ever encounter in person.

At last, after what seemed like ages, the tent flap moved, and the audience, who had sat and waited where they stood, hurriedly got to their feet (or what have you) and gathered to hear the outcome. Out stepped the White Witch. She cast a glance at Edmund as she strode past—with trepidation, James thought she looked triumphant—and continued toward her litter.

Aslan followed her out. "She has renounced her claim on the Son of Adam's blood." Cheers rose from the company.

"How do I know your promise will be kept?" Jadis demanded. In reply, Aslan roared ferociously, and the witch fell into her seat in surprise. Everyone cheered and applauded. James fancied that her ice crown had melted a bit since her arrival.

However, even as he was congratulating the Pevensies with a grin and a thunderous purr that made it hard to speak, James noticed the sprite staring only at Aslan. He followed her gaze, and saw with great surprise that the great lion looked grieved and sad, rather than victorious, as he walked away.

—

That night, however abuzz with thoughts his mind was, James managed to curl into a ball and doze off. He was awakened several times by the restless stirrings of the sprite on the opposite side of the tent, tossing and turning, unable to find rest. At last, in the middle of the night, his ear pricked at the sound of soft footsteps outside.

Amy sat bolt upright as a great shadow slid along the side of their tent. It was time. "_James!_" she hissed, jumping out of bed and grabbing her cloak and weapons. The mion followed suit, belting on his sword and following her out into the darkness. They spotted the form of Aslan climbing a hill into the trees. Two small, cloaked forms darted after him, keeping their distance and hiding in the shadows; Susan and Lucy were following him also. The strangers exchanged a glance and stalked after the others, into the woods.

Aslan walked through the trees, bathed in moonlight, head bowed, and his paws dragged slightly, as though a great weight pulled at them. Ames crept from shadow to shadow, the mion following silently. Only a few yards ahead, Susan and Lucy were doing the same, albeit much less silently.

At last Aslan paused—it was past midnight, by now—with a twitch of his ears, and without turning around, asked in soft rue, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Although Susan and Lucy revealed themselves, James and the sprite remained hidden. The girls walked with him, and the dynamic duo followed from the shadows, although from the occasional flick of his ears, they knew he knew they were there. After what seemed like an eternity, and yet had only been a couple of minutes, or perhaps a couple of hours, the trees thinned, and a great hill with fires and stone structures was visible in the distance, beyond the edge of the wood. Here, Aslan turned to them. "It is time," he told them. "From here, I must go on alone."

"But Aslan—," Susan began.

"You have to trust me, for this must be done." And so he left them.

James touched Amy's shoulder and nodded toward another path, overgrown and riddled with thorns. It would lead to the same place. They both knew it, though without knowing why. Susan and Lucy had made the same decision, and the four of them, together but not together, followed it and found a place to hide behind an outcropping of rocks and bushes, with a perfect view.

Within said view was the hill, and atop that, many stone structures of a Stonehenge quality. The mount was swarming with all manner of ugly and disturbing creatures from the witch's army, though yet again they were a mere fraction of the entire company.

Aslan ascended the slabs of stone acting as steps toward the great Stone Table at the center of the commotion. The crowds parted before him in intimidation, though they called out insults nonetheless. However, the great lion was unfazed by all of this, and padded through them as if they weren't there. At last he faced the witch, who wore a slain pheasant over one shoulder, and stood waiting upon the Table. In her hands she held an ancient obsidian dagger, decorated with a crystal of lifeless and un-shimmering ice. "Behold," she mocked, "the Great Lion." The company laughed and jeered.

James looked at Amy apprehensively, but she was stone-faced and impossible to read as she watched the events unfolding. "Why doesn't he fight back?" he whispered desperately as the great lion was bound and shaved. He could feel the panic rising in him, and it was enough to put a shake in his voice. "Why don't _we?_"

"We're outnumbered," the sprite murmured emotionlessly.

"Bring him to me," the White Witch ordered when they had finished, and the lion was dragged unceremoniously up the steps to the Table. The cheering crescendoed until the not-Queen held out her hand for silence.

It was in this silence that tears began to prickle Amy's eyes, and James muttered to himself an inaudible plan of attack. "We can't, James," she whispered, and she sounded very, very tired. "We just can't."

At last Jadis stepped closer to Aslan and kneeled by his head. The vulture-like hags began the ceremony as old as Narnia, striking their staffs against the ground in a slow rhythm. The company began to cheer again, and roars and shrieks and cries of all kinds echoed through the valley beyond the hill. They joined in on the beat, stamping their feet and clapping and all manner of such actions in time with the great heartbeat driven by those staffs.

"You know, Aslan," Jadis murmured softly, though Amy, James, Susan, and Lucy could hear her clearly over the crowd, "I'm a little disappointed in you. Did you honestly think by all this that you could save the human traitor?"

"What is she talking about?" James growled in frustration, lashing his tail and clutching so tightly at the boulder that hid them that his claws left scars in the stone.

"You are giving me your life," the witch went on, "and saving no one." She chuckled softly. "So much for love." And she rose, as did her voice as she addressed the company. "Tonight, the Deep Magic will be appeased. But tomorrow, we will take Narnia FOREVER!" The cheers swelled, and the beating grew faster and faster. "In that knowledge, despair," she raised the dagger, "and DIE!" Aslan's gaze met with James' for an instant, before the blade plunged into its victim, and his great golden eyes closed and he breathed his last.

"No!" James cried, though no foe heard him. Beside him, Amy gasped, and he drew her into his embrace.

"The Great Cat is DEAD!" Jadis cried in triumph. The valley and forests thundered with the cheers of her army. "General, prepare your troops for battle—however short it may be."

"They cannot _do_ this!" the mion cried, springing to his feet, drawing his blade, and surging into battle.

"No, James!" Amy pleaded desperately, no longer stoic as tears streamed down her face. She clutched at his sword arm and put all her weigh into pulling him away, but he threw her off without faltering. There was something in his eyes besides grief and anger that scared her. "Aslan sacrificed himself for our sakes. _All _our sakes," she added with meaning. "Do not throw that away. Not now. _Please_, James!"

He rounded on her, and she was shocked at the fury in his eyes. "You knew this was going to happen!"

She choked on a sob. "We must protect canon. There was nothing we could have done otherwise." Shoulders shaking in fury and grief, not to mention the difficult task of self restraint, he swung his sword so that it lodged in a nearby tree, scaring away any birds in the proximity.

And so they waited, silently grieving, for the Witch and her army to leave. As soon as the fires had gone out and the coast was clear, the two Pevensies climbed up to the Stone Table and sat beside Aslan's body. Amy and James approached, sitting at the base of the steps leading toward the table, unseen and unheard in their silent grief around the Great Lion. Birds sang in the distance, and there was a very dim, grey light that told of dawn not far off. Amy wondered how the world could be so peaceful when such a thing had happened.

"We have to tell the others," Susan said at last.

"We can't just leave him," Lucy protested.

"Lucy, there's no time. They need to know." There was a silence.

"I will go," said a soft voice, and the girls turned to see Amy and James, rising wearily from the stone. "My paws are swift and driven by grief. I shall get there in time."

"How long have you been there?" asked Susan. Than, with anger, "And why didn't you do anything to help?"

"What could we have done?" cried the sprite. "What could any of us have done? Even with the whole army alongside us, stopping her would have meant the destruction of Narnia, you heard what she said at the camp! And what about what Aslan said in the woods? 'This must be done.' He must have known what he was doing." She saw understanding and acceptance spread across the faces of the grief-stricken girls.

"I _will_ come back," James promised.

"I'll keep watch here. Be safe," the sprite bid him, and the girls echoed her.

With only a serious—though determined—nod, he dropped to all fours and streaked toward the camp.

—

Peter strode out of the great red tent to face Oreius and Edmund. "He's right." James sat not far off, head bowed and breathing heavily in grief and exhaustion. "He's gone."

"Then you'll have to lead us," Edmund told him. He looked like he was about to protest. "Peter, there's an army out there—it's ready to follow you."

"I can't," Peter insisted. "Oreius, can't you?"

"I take my orders from you, sire. I do not give orders to you."

"Mr. Norrington—"

James shook his head. "This is your battle, King Peter. Aslan believed in you, as does your army, and your brother. As do I." Peter looked more reassured now.

"The Witch's army is nearing, sire," Oreius announced gently, no longer able to wait. "What are your orders?"

The blonde looked resolutely at their battle plan—which included tactics from the war raging on in his own world—and made a decision. "You'll be with me, won't you?" he asked the mion.

"No. I must return and protect the girls. But I wish you luck and success."

"Thank you," he replied as James rose, extending his hand. Norrington grasped it in his paw and shook, before suddenly pulling the little king into a man-hug. "You remind me of my dad," Peter mumbled into his shoulder. "So much."

Taking a deep breath, James replied with a cracking voice, "Then as a father might say; You remind me of myself when I was young. You have a great journey before you, and you shall not perceive its ending until it has past." He turned to the younger of the two brothers and looked him square in the eye. "Edmund, I have an important job for you; keep an eye on your brother for me, will you?" The boy could only nod. "Then there is nothing more for me here. I must away to the girls. King Edmund. King Peter," he bowed respectively. "Good luck. And Godspeed." With that, he dropped to his paws and raced away.

Just before he was out of earshot, he heard Oreius mutter, "Who is God?" before launching into a conversation on tactics.

The question set his thoughts on a mutinous trail as he flew through the forest. _The question is not 'who is God',_ he thought. _The question is, 'where is God?' How could He have let this happen?_ However, his faith and logic won out, and as much as he wanted to bask in such dark thoughts, he had to admit that bad things happen, and that is a part of life. Besides, he recalled, everything happens for a reason.

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><p>Yay, an update! Review.<p> 


	7. Identity Mistaken

**Chapter Seven: Father?**

Susan, Lucy, and Amy, exhausted by their grief, had lain their heads on Aslan's quickly cooling body to rest. The sprite was awakened by the sounds of laboured breathing, and the sisters woke up as she darted to the top of the steps, sword drawn, to see who—or what—was there.

"James!" she cried, upon seeing the mion, thoroughly exhausted, struggling to drag himself up the hill. She sheathed her blade and descended to help him. "Are you all right?" she asked gently.

"No," he panted. "I am not. Of my fatigue, I shall recover in a few minutes. Of my grief, well." They slowly ascended the great stone slabs that served as steps to where Susan stood, watching with concern. "I'm fine," he assured her before she could ask. And with that, he staggered to the Stone Table to join Aslan once more.

It was well past dawn now, though the sky was overcast here, and the hill itself was freezing; the place where the Witch's power had extinguished the warmth of hope. At last, Amy, still beside herself, murmured to James, "If we could have stopped it...what would have changed? I mean...if someone could have stopped Jesus' crucifixion because they had known it would happen, would they have stopped it?" James looked at her sharply. This was the first reference to Christianity she had made since that trip in the winter, what seemed like ages ago.

He had no answer for her. Instead, he murmured, "We should go."

Lucy looked up for the first time. "I'm so cold." The Witch's power had taken a hold of them. Nonetheless, she began to walk away.

James briefly lay his paw on Aslan's shoulder and pushed his nose into the thicker fur where the mane had been. "Goodbye, my friend," he said calmly, before turning abruptly and striding away. Amy was startled by his stoicism. He had always been so open around her, but now he had retreated into his shell of poker-faced, unreadable, and emotionless.

With lingering glances over their shoulders, the four went away from that place. When at last their backs were turned, the wind began to howl, and there was a great cracking and rumbling behind them that shook them to the ground. Whirling around, they saw that the Stone Table had broken, and Aslan's body was gone.

Rage flowed through James, and he clenched his jaws to suppress a furious snarl. "What have they done?" he cried at the same time that Lucy asked "Where's Aslan?" They stared in awe and wonder.

Their eyes were soon drawn to the great stone arch, where they could see the sun emerging from behind a cloud. This was not what their gazes were drawn to, however, but to a magnificent and familiar silhouette against its light. "Aslan!" they all exclaimed in joy, skirting the split table to embrace him. He laughed gently, though enough to be heard over James' thunderous purr.

"But we saw the knife," the mion managed at last, in awe. "The witch."

"If the witch knew the true meaning of sacrifice, she might have interpreted the Deep Magic differently," Aslan replied, "That when a willing victim who has committed no treachery is killed in a traitor's stead, the Stone Table will crack," his voice echoed slightly off the stone, "and even death itself will turn backwards."

"We sent the news that you were dead," Susan told him.

"Peter and Edmund have gone to war," James confirmed.

"We have to help them," Lucy drew her dagger.

Aslan only chuckled. "We will, dear one. But not alone. Climb on my back," he said, crouching for them. "We have far to go, and little time to get there."

Feeling something powerful rising inside him, James was compelled to add, "And you may want to cover your ears," before he and Aslan let loose tremendous roars that echoed off the valley side.

And so they were off. James ran beside Aslan, all former exhaustion gone, only pure energy running through his limbs. Susan and Lucy rode upon the Great Lion's back. And Amy; she did something she had dreamed of but had never allowed herself to do until such a moment as this: she flew. As soon as she had mastered the movements, she was darting about in the air, twisting and turning and flipping and looping and doing barrel rolls—her face was that definition of joy. She would even add in a few bursts of colour or the images of water and waves rolling through the sky.

They descended into the valley, racing over the plains. Trees lined the fields on one side, a river on the other. Before them rose the snow-capped crags of the mountains. "Where are we going?" James asked with pricked ears and quivering whiskers. No one replied, although he was certain that the sprite that flew beside him knew the answer.

Their destination came into view just then, anyway; but instead of quenching his curiosity, it only made it stronger. The Witch's Castle. And Curiosity. The twin-peaked ice mountain rose stark amid a placid, glimmering lake—James fancied it might once have been frozen solid. In fact, it looked as though the castle itself were beginning to melt.

"Hang on," Aslan called to the girls, and doubled the pace.

—

Norrington crept warily through the forest of stone figures. They all looked eerily realistic, and the place itself was so desolate that it was creepy. Amy led the way through the oddly posed figures, which seemed as though they had been frozen mid-action, threading her way until she came to the statue of a faun. Without thinking, she reached up and touched his cheek. "There is still hope for you," she whispered. James could only shoot her a bewildered look.

"Oh no." She turned to face the mion. He was staring at something near the faun's hooves. "Look."

She bent down to see the fox, frozen in stone. "Jack."

The mion rounded on her. "You said he was alive!"

The sprite puffed up with indignation. "He was when I checked. Calm down, will ya? Everything will be okay."

"How? He's _dead_."

"So was Aslan," she replied softly, though firmly, and that shut him up.

Lucy and Susan had come to these statues now, surrounded by the dripping ice and stone of the castle, and the younger began to cry at the sight of her friend. However, always calm, Aslan padded over to the statue and breathed on the faun, his breath stirring the stone curls of his hair.

Slowly, slowly, the grey of rock became colour, and a slow, deep heartbeat could be heard. At last, as stone turned to flesh, Tumnus gasped for breath and was alive. He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing, and was caught by an overjoyed Lucy. Their gazes met, and they began to laugh with relief. "Susan, this is—"

"—Mr Tumnus!" the elder cried, flinging herself to hug him.

James was staring at them with eyes wide, ears sideways, and jaw on the floor. "'I walked in a valley of dead bones,'" he quoth breathlessly, "'and the Lord put flesh on the bones and breathed the breath of life into them, and they were alive.'"

Tumnus suddenly looked up from the embrace, catching sight of the sprite. He shoved himself in front of the girls, crying, "Get behind me!" The air between the faun and the sprite crackled with tension as the former waited for the latter to attack. "You coward," he scorned, "stalking these Daughters of Eve like prey—awaiting the opportunity to make your kill!" That one really hurt—she'd thought she'd left all the prejudice behind her.

James surged forward, ears pinned, teeth bared, to her defense.

"Mr Tumnus, she won't hurt us," Lucy told him; but the faun's countenance did not waver.

Instead, he turned his head to look at her. "I've already put you in danger once. I won't let it happen again."

"They are in no danger," Norrington growled, tail lashing. "She has been working with Aslan and the army from the start, and has been ostracized instead of appreciated for her efforts. Be a little more grateful; she is part of the reason we are here to save you."

Tumnus, partly in awe of the mion and partly in actual realization, dropped his aggression immediately and stared at the sprite. "Then you are not a coward at all," he said sincerely, looking her square in the eye with obvious admiration. "In fact, I'd say you were very brave to have defied your people and taken a stand, even when others were resentful of you." He awkwardly put out his left hand (as he had only once before shaken hands) and she grasped it and gave it one of her firm, manly shakes (although now not so manly for the size of her hand). "I am sorry I treated you so unjustly," he said, holding her hand a moment longer with a penetrating look.

"Given the circumstances, I have to admit that I do understand, however much I would enjoy being angry." She suddenly squeaked as something cold and wet landed in her free hand. She looked down to see the fox that held a shard of Jack's being, red leather collar shining with wet. She chirruped with excitement (a sound that sprites apparently make) and scooped up the canine—which was half as big as she was—without difficulty, cuddling him and pressing her face into his orange fur. "Everything's all right now," she sighed before looking up to meet James' gaze, eyes flashing. "Mission accomplished."

"That's all very well, but..." He flicked his ears, casting about for the right words.

"Come," Aslan interrupted them, several Narnians stirring back to life around him. "We must hurry and search the castle. Peter will need everyone we can find."

The two girls, faun, mion, and sprite, all exchanged expressions before following him into the dripping, melting castle, Curiosity leashed and obediently trotting along beside them. "Is there any danger to him now that the worst is past?" Norrington was finally able to mutter to the sprite.

"I don't think so." She twitched her ears subtly. "Why?"

"I want to stay and help."

"I thought you didn't want to get involved with the war?"

"Amy, look me in the eye and tell me truthfully." They stopped while the rest of the group went on ahead. She looked up and evenly met his intense, icy green gaze. "This story runs parallel to the Bible, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then we must fight. Our faith means to fight sin every day. Isn't that what this whole war is about?"

She nodded, though she wasn't sure which war he meant - Narnia's, or the Realms'. "Yeah. I know what you mean. I want to stay and fight, too."

He laid a paw on her shoulder, as though proud of her, and they set off after the others.

—

He surprised her that afternoon, when he became a horse right in the middle of her shack. It must have been time, she supposed. He couldn't stay a man forever, after all. Still, it had scared the life out of her when the winds of transformation had blown through her home. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly unconcerned, as though he knew this was natural for him even though he couldn't remember why he had to change. "Ya couldn' do dat outside?" she scolded him, only half-serious. He took no notice of her, however. All sorts of smells and sounds were here that he hadn't been able to distinguish before as a man, and he proceeded to stick his nose into everything he could find.

But there was something odd about him now. His coat where it had been a dark bay, now had patches of roan. She supposed the colour of his pelt was incomplete because he himself was incomplete. It was a curious thing, but she resolved not to be baffled by it, for her logic made sense.

—

They hurried down the halls and up into the towers of the melting castle, searching every room, every stairwell, every cell in the dungeon, searching for stone prisoners. At last, with a large regiment of Narnians behind them that would add a third again to the army, they set off toward the battleground, where every Narnian heart—and even those not Narnian—could feel a battle raging on. One that Narnia would win only with their help. That knowledge lent speed to their strides.

Soon—where soon may mean a manner of minutes or over an hour—a great precipice of rock and boulders came into sight, and from beyond it, the sounds of battle; the clang of swords, the yells and noises, the neigh of horses, and the cries of pain.

Aslan roared once as they approached, the sound echoing off the rocks in the ravine, and then a second time as he came to the top, to be seen by all, louder and more ferocious than anything one had ever heard or imagined; a challenge to those that would trespass on his 'territory.'

Susan, Lucy, Amy, Tumnus, and James watched from atop a boulder as the White Witch, adorned with Aslan's shorn mane from before his death, a chain mail gown, and a golden headpiece resembling a dragon, was locked in battle with Peter. She looked up when Aslan roared, however, and even from their distance, the five could head her gasp, "Impossible!"

"Improbable!" Amy cried at the top of her lungs, with tears of triumph prickling her eyes as the fresh wave of soldiers streamed past them into battle.

"Come on," James urged her, clawing at the ground with the tip of his boot and gripping his sword impatiently.

Amy was about the agree then she felt a touch on her shoulder, and she turned to see Tumnus crouching beside her. "It would be an honour to fight beside you both."

"An honour that shall be granted you," she replied eagerly (before noting how Narnian speech had rubbed off on her), and the three of them launched themselves into battle. Tumnus, having no weapon, was able to salvage a halberd from a fallen faun, after tackling a hag and a minoboar. And so, the three of them fought, though aiming only to wound, for they knew themselves that the battle was already won.

And so it was; for moments later, it was declared that the Witch was dead, slain by Aslan himself, and all fighting ceased. The three stood and conversed, whilst Aslan and Lucy went about the battlefield with the breath of life and the healing juice of the fireflower.

Amy found that she liked the James McAvoy Tumnus much better than the book character. In fact, in the novel she had only ever seen him as a whiny, snobby, weak person. But here, he was so easily likeable, and, more importantly, _real_ (not to mention brave and kind of cute. Okay, more than 'kind of').

A great feast awaited the troops that evening, held in celebration of their great victory. Seated between the mion and the faun, Ames eagerly tucked in, ignorant of manners (miffing proper James), though never rude. It was announced that the coronation would be held in two days. ("So soon," Ellie had remarked), in the halls of the castle Cair Paravel.

"Will another few days hurt us?" the mion muttered to the sprite. "Time-wise, I mean."

She shrugged. "I don't think so. But I thought you wanted to get out of here ASAP?"

He sighed. "I do. Well, I did. And after the way I snapped at you, I'd like to make it up to you. So what do you say? We've had a victory of our own. Why not celebrate?"

She grinned and nodded.

After supper, there was music and dance. Amy started out performing on flute with the band, and soon had the crowd in action with 'Meryton Townhall' from the Pride and Prejudice film. However, James Norrington sawr this as the perfect opportunity to teach her how to dance. He began by attempting to teach her a simple waltz, but their difference in height made things difficult. She found it much easier to learn the step-dance-like footwork of a faun celebration dance from Mr. Tumnus, which required no partners, but made an attractive picturesque with the faun dancing on one side of her and the mion joining in on the other, light on his feet as though he already knew the style of dance.

Amy later found herself dancing with Mr. Beaver (at last, someone as clumsy at dancing as she!), and then a very enthusiastic badger whose mate grew more jealous with each twirl and spin. She ended the night, however, doing a slow dance with Curiosity, placing his paws on her shoulders the way one would with a pet dog. The fox licked her face and grinned in the way that tame foxes do, and the celebrations ended with the soft melodies of Narnian lullabies (played exquisitely by Mr Tumnus) accompanying everyone to their tents and leading them to a content and well-deserved slumber.

Two days later, everyone had gathered in the halls of Cair Paravel by the Great Sea. The white marble and stone were beautiful, and Amy couldn't help but to admire the architecture of the place. She had never been inside a castle before—the closest she had ever come was an historic college in her hometown.

Centaurs lined the aisle, flags and halberds presented, and behind and around them, the rest of the company. A fanfare announced the beginning of the ceremony, and Edmund, Peter, Aslan, Susan, and Lucy, all adorned like royalty but for the lion, who was royalty enough as he was, processed down the aisle, toward the four thrones. The two beavers followed, bearing the crowns on maroon cushions lined with gold, and behind them, Tumnus and James.

The Pevensies went to their thrones and stood, facing the audience, while Aslan turned and addressed the company. "To the glistening Eastern Sea, I give you Queen Lucy, the Valiant." Tumnus took up the small crown and carefully, gently, placed it on the young girl's head. "To the great Western Wood, King Edmund, the Just." This one the mion crowned, bowing as the young king rose from his kneeling. They exchanged a small smile. "To the radiant Southern Sun, Queen Susan, the Gentle." Tumnus stooped to pick up the fragile-looking crown adorned with yellow-gold daffodils, and Susan curtseyed to receive it. And finally, "To the clear Northern Sky, I give you King Peter, the Magnificent." James, praying that he would not mess up now of all times, placed the golden crown on the High King, and bowed away. He and Tumnus retreated to opposite ends of the terrace and bowed low, as Aslan turned to the newly-anointed royalty. "Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen. May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens."

Then came the 'all hails' and much cheering. "Long live King Peter! Long live King Edmund! Long live Queen Susan! Long live Queen Lucy!" And thus was the ceremony over, to be followed by a feast even greater than that which had followed their victory over the Witch.

James approached Amy in the crowded and musical hall, and after conversing for a few moments, they went to join Lucy and Tumnus on a balcony overlooking the Sea as they watched Aslan padding away along the lapping waves, not to be seen again for some time. "So Aslan leaves, so must we also," the sprite murmured as she gazed at the great lion.

Tumnus turned to her in surprise. "So soon?"

"Our purpose here is finished, and the prophecy is fulfilled," James replied. "We've done what we came to do, and more."

"We'll miss you," Lucy said tearily, and James, beaten into submission by a cuteness factor, hugged her quickly before she scampered away to find her siblings.

Amy herself was drawn into a hug by the faun. "The prophecy has been fulfilled," she repeated softly. There was a flash of light and the ground shifted beneath her boots; suddenly Mr Tumnus didn't seem so big. In fact, he was nearly at eye level with her, and his expression of shock mirrored her own. She looked down at herself, and saw that she was again human, brown haired and un-pointy-eared.

She looked over at James to see that he, too, was human, and looking very confused as he felt at his beard. They stared at one another for a few moments, as though they had forgotten what the other looked like. "What's happening?" the former-mion asked, almost with concern. "Why are we like this _now_?"

"I-I think it's because of the prophecy. Now that it's come to pass, there can be other humans here, which includes us."

At the enquiring look from the faun, Ames launched into a brief, though detailed, explanation—for it made sense about there being more than one world here in this Realm. When she had finished, she nudged James and said, "Come on, we should say goodbye to Peter and them." She led the way back into the great hall, the other two following, and began to navigate her way through the crowd.

The creatures parted around them, and they could feel the stares prickling their skin, and the hushed exclamations of surprise and recognition. "Can that be the very sprite we distrusted? Here she was a Daughter of Eve all along."

"And see the way her companion carries himself—surely he is the mion!"

"Do you see anybody?" Ames murmured to James.

"No, I—"

"Father!" they heard Edmund cry, and he broke through the crowd, followed closely by Peter, Susan, and Lucy as they all hurled themselves at Norrington. "You came to find us!"

"I knew you seemed familiar, but I never thought—" Peter.

"I can't believe you've come back—" Susan.

"You grew a beard—" This from Lucy.

The four continued talking all at once, and so their silence was sharply felt when James abruptly pulled away from them, backing away another few paces for good measure. "No," he said breathlessly, looking around at them like a cornered animal. Was that fear? "I'm not—I mean I—but I'm not—," his voice was shaking, as though a common case of mistaken identity had shaken him to the core.

"Father," Lucy stepped closer—and he backed another pace away—, "what are you—?"

"Weren't you listening?" he snapped, beginning to lose composure. "I am not now, nor have I even been your father—Amy, get me out of here," he pleaded desperately.

She only nodded, placing her fingers in her mouth and whistling. Curiosity came bounding toward her, and she picked him up. "I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding," she said to the Pevensies with a look that said she was as confused as they were. "It's been a blast getting to know you and fighting by your sides, but," she spared a sympathetic look at James, who was looking around for a means of escape, trying to detach himself from the situation and looking very troubled, "we really should be going." She walked over to the armoured figure and slid her hand into his.

He looked at her, blinking in confusion and frustration. "I'm not, right?" he mumbled. "I can't be."

She cupped his cheek, but didn't answer, instead turning back to the four. "Thanks for everything, and farewell." With that, much to the surprise of those crowded around to see, the two—and their fox—disappeared in a whirlwind of turquoise.

* * *

><p>And thus ends another episode! What's up with James? Find out in Interlude! Coming soon to a screen near you!<p> 


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